


All’s Well That Ends Well

by AloeAloe



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Misunderstandings, Saintly Jeeves, oblivious Bertie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-04-05 22:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19049593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AloeAloe/pseuds/AloeAloe
Summary: To the general disappointment of his family, Bertie Wooster was born an omega.  After enduring his dreaded Aunt Agatha’s best efforts to pair him off, he has all but given up on love and resigned himself to the life of a perpetual bachelor.However, this is the story of how Bertie Wooster discovered how love conquers all, even failed dinner parties, drunken mishaps and carnivorous aunts.Complete.





	1. I Would Die a Bachelor

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re unfamiliar with alpha/beta/omega dynamics, I’d recommend giving it a quick google before you start. 
> 
> Other than that, thanks for reading and may the games begin!

“The world is a stage, but the play is badly cast.”

Oscar Wilde

* * *

As a rule, we Woosters know how to deal with the highs and lows of life — take things in our stride, keep the old head above water — that sort of thing.Anyway, a Wooster understands the importance of scaling the peaks and valleys of day to day existence.I often like to think that life may throw what it likes at a Wooster but, like a jack-in-the-box, we always bounce straight back up.Adversity itself pales when facing a Wooster.

Or, so I thought.Rather than facing down adversity, this Bertram Wooster still pales when facing Aunt Agatha.

The rummy thing is that none of my current predicament, if you can call it that, is really my fault.Now, I am a man who will shoulder responsibility when responsibility needs to be shouldered, but even I can’t really be blamed for simply being me.I didn’t choose to be born a — even the word makes me positively shudder — an omega, now did I?Blame genetics, blame hormones, but don’t blame Bertie Wooster. 

However, the dreaded Aunt didn’t seem to get the memo about blame.Aunt Agatha apparently feeds upon the misery of downtrodden nephews, her favourite dish being nephews who didn’t have the common decency to be born an alpha, what?Noblesse oblige and all that rot.Finding herself inpossession of such an underwhelming specimen of a relative, Aunt Agatha has spent the majority of my adult life trying to pair up yours truly with any aristocratic beazle that came within reach of her talons.And after years of having a multitude of asinine betas and — the Wooster corpus cringes at the very thought — domineering alpha females shoved in my path as potential mates, this Bertram Wooster had had quite enough. 

Thankfully, however, that chapter of my life has been closed; the days of being constantly ambushed by the likes of Honoria Glossop are at an end.To cut a long story short, my relationship with my aunt (and the Glossop clan) is now in merry tatters, the noble family lineage forgotten and noblesse oblige has been thrown out of the proverbial window. 

The strange thing is that this particular Wooster can’t quite bring himself to care one jot about it.

But, I get ahead of myself.Like any good meal, stories have a proper order.If one was to serve up the fish course up along with, say, the roly-poly pudding, then dining would not be fit for man nor beast.The same goes with stories.There’s no point waxing lyrical about the ending before the thing has even gotten started, what? So, in the proper order of things, here’s the story of how Bertie Wooster discovered how love conquers all, even failed dinner parties, drunken mishaps and carnivorous aunts.  

* * *

In my mind, the whole thing began that night in the Drones Club.It was a pleasant summer evening: hot enough to make everyone cheerful, but not sticky enough to make everyone perspire — just on the right side of humidity, if you know what I mean. Combine such an evening with a cool drink and pleasant surroundings, and you have the nearest thing to perfection a man can hope for.Well, until you find yourself in the company of one Bingo Little. 

Now, Bingo’s a good chap, heart in the right place and all that, but he does have a startling propensity to fall in love at the drop of, say,a hat made of lead.Very little escapes the discerning eye of a Wooster and, on that particular evening, it only took me one brief glance to spot the marks of love upon the poor fellow.The expression one gets just after being biffed on the head, the vacant stare, the sudden need to sigh at intervals of seconds: the cove was positively wallowing in love! 

Knowing the drill (it was not unheard of for Bingo to have a new object of his affection at the rate a traffic light changes), I braced myself for the inevitable onslaught on the old ears.Say one thing for Bingo, when he’s caught a spot of the old amore, he can talk the hind legs off a donkey — innumerable donkeys, even!

He meandered over to my table and flopped into the seat opposite me, still maintaining that bally concussed expression.I did my best to restrain a sudden yet powerful urge to jump out of the nearest window.

“Oh Bertie, something marvellous has happened,” was his opening gambit.

With considerable effort, I managed to dredge up a smile.“Yes, yes?What’s that then?”

“Oh, I have met the most divine beta.She’s positively _celestial_!Not of this world, Bertie!Not of this world!”

“Ah, jolly good,” I said.“Nice girl, then?”

“ _Nice_ doesn’t cover it, Bertie!To use the word ‘nice’ when speaking of her is like saying that the Crown Jewels are a pretty bit of costume jewellery.The word does not do her justice!”

“Oh.A jolly nice girl, then?”

At this, Bingo’s expression became distinctly sour.“ _Jolly nice!_ ” he gasped, horror struck.“I say, Bertie, haven’t you ever been in _love_?Really in love?I mean, haven’t you ever felt your heart aflutter, haven’t you ever felt the delicate pull on the heartstrings or the stirrings of passion in your gut?” 

“I say, we’re in public!”

Bingo continued regardless.“But really, Bertie, haven’t you ever truly been in love?”

Now, this threw me off a bit.Of course I’d had passing fancies, Bobbie Wickham being one, but my affections never seemed to have the strength to survive more than a few measly days.As an omega, I understood that I was supposed to be assailed by crippling heats, insatiable passion and sudden uncontrollable urges to throw myself at the nearest available alpha.However, this had never posed a problem for one Bertie Wooster.The old carnal desire seemed to have completely passed me over and, if I’d ever gone into heat, I’d never really noticed it.Facing this evidence, one had to assume that this Bertie Wooster was not romantically inclined. 

My reply, therefore, was prompt and to the point.

“No.”

“What, really?You’ve never been in love?” 

“No- I mean _yes_.Never.”

At this, Bingo looked stricken.“But, _Bertie_ , that’s _terrible_!How ever can you stand it?”

I fixed him with a stern gaze: his incredulity was beginning to grate on the old nerves.“Having patiently endured years of Aunt Agatha attempting to pair me off with a menagerie of females that even the most desperate Casanova would turn his nose up at, I have come to the conclusion that the life of a bachelor is the life for Bertram Wooster.”

“Oh, Bertie.” At this point, Bingo’s expression morphed into something that I assume was supposed to convey deepest sympathy.The sight was enough to put one off one’s food. 

“And don’t you look at me like that,” I snapped.“I’m as happy as can be and don’t feel the need to pair up with any alpha or beta or the suchlike.Jeeves keeps the household in order just fine, so what do I need love for when everything’s boomps-a-daisy just as it is?”

It was at this point that Bingo averted his eyes and began to stare mournfully into his drink.I had the distinct and unpleasant realisation that I was being pitied - by the likes of _Bingo_ , no less! 

“Righto, Bertie,” he said, tone utterly lacking in its usual vim and vigour.“Righto.” 

* * *

Thankfully, Bingo was able to scrape together enough common sense to change the topic of conversation after that.Soul searching was abandoned in favour of general carousing, the throwing of bread rolls and an exceedingly good time was had by all. 

It was later that evening, the precise time escapes me, that I made my way back to the old apartment.I was what some people may call ‘three sheets to the wind’ and the spirit of merriment (along with an assortment of other spirits) was flowing strongly through the Wooster veins.

Looking back, I can see that getting so sozzled wasn’t a terribly wise decision.You see, I was due to endure a dinner party with the unspeakable Aunt Agatha along with Sir Roderick and Honoria Glossop the following day.The whole arrangement was undoubtedly another of the she-wolf’s schemes to pair me up with the force of nature that was Honoria (a imperious alpha that I had barely managed to escape from unscathed before), and turning up with a stinking hangover would undoubtedly do little to endear the y.m. to any of the company.Moreover, having afuzzy head may have had a detrimental impact on my skills of matrimonial evasion.  There was nothing for it, Jeeves would have to come to the rescue with one of his famous restoratives.

Now, this is when things get a bit hard to put into words, but I’ll give it my best shot.

As I opened the front door of the apartment, set upon summoning Jeeves to my aid, the first thing that struck me upon entering was The Smell (note the capitalisation).There was a scent lingering in the air, faint yet clearly discernible.Now, there are some scents that set the mouth to drooling and activate the ‘something’s tasty’ section of the brain.This was not one of those.It did not set the tum to rumbling, but instead it caused a sort of - a sort of _twist_ deep in my stomach that I hadn’t experienced before.It was a bally odd sensation, but not an unpleasant one.Rather, the more I took in the aroma, a rich, musky sort of scent, the more my foggy brain decided that it rather liked it.

Anyway, I did what appeared logical to the pickled Wooster brain.I decided to ‘follow my nose’, as it were, and find the source of the mystery scent.

The source, as it turned out, was Jeeves.

I found him sat at the kitchen table, a gasper in one hand and a book in the other.Perhaps due to the heat of the evening, he was missing his suit jacket and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.Without the added layers, I could see the strong line of his shoulders and his hair, rather than being immaculately styled, had a few loose strands trailing down over his forehead. He must have unconsciously mussed it as he was reading.He looked younger and I came to the sudden realisation that — despite the yawning gap in intellect between the two of us — he couldn’t have been more than five years older than myself.

Jeeves didn’t notice me at first and simply continued to read, occasionally lifting the cigarette to his lips for a long, slow drag.For some reason, the mere sight of this caused my mouth to go dry as a desert.Moreover, that delicious scent hung thick in the air and seemed to intensify the longer I watched him. 

I must have made some small sound as Jeeves became suddenly aware of my presence.As a credit to his steely nerves, the only indication of any surprise was a glance in my direction and the slight quirk of an eyebrow.

“I do apologise, sir,” he said, swiftly closing his book, stubbing out his cigarette and standing.“ It seems that I was so engaged with my reading that I did not hear you come in.Can I provide you with anything, sir?” 

“Err...no, Jeeves. I’m just fine.”And I just continued to stand there, gawking at him like a glassy eyed idiot.Had the man’s shoulder’s always been so broad?The line of his jaw so strong?My stomach gave another of those funny little twists.

If my close observation made Jeeves feel uncomfortable, he concealed it well.“Sir?” he said, looking at me enquiringly.

I decided to broach the issue.“I say, Jeeves, what’s that smell?”

There was a slight pause.

“Smell, sir?”

“Have you got a new aftershave on, what?Not that it’s an issue, mind you.It’s a bally nice smell, I mean to say.”  

The other man looked thoughtful.“Not to my knowledge, sir.I have just been smoking, sir, perhaps that is the particular aroma you are referring to?” 

“No!It’s sort of a- a-,” words escaped me and I finished lamely with, “well, it’s a jolly _nice_ scent, is all.Very... very _you_.”

There was another slight pause and I foggily wondered if I had overstepped some line or whatnot.Jeeves was looking at me quite closely, and I wasn’t sure if I imagined it or not, but I thought I saw a frown briefly flicker across his otherwise serene expression.

“Thank you, sir,” he said finally.

Despite my groggy state, I was suddenly aware of a bit of an atmosphere - words unspoken and whatnot.I made a misjudged attempt to lighten the mood.“You endeavour to provide satisfaction, eh Jeeves?Even in the olfactory department, what?” 

Needless to say, the masses won’t be queuing for my comedy routine.

“So it would seem, sir.” 

Another pause.I was half tempted to continue staring at the other man like a lost puppy and continue inhaling that delightful aroma, but I got a hold of myself.Staring gormlessly at one’s gentleman’s gentleman whilst inhaling noisily through the nose is simply not done, eh?

“Well then, Jeeves,” I managed to say, “I’ll just pop off to bed then, shall I?”

Jeeves gave a slight nod.“Very good, sir.”

“Good o’.Nighty, night, Jeeves!”

“Good night, sir.” 

It was a bally odd thing, but the walk to my bedroom somehow felt a lot longer than usual.As I settled down to sleep, having enrobed myself in the pyjamas so carefully laid out for me by Jeeves, I couldn’t help but feel a little glum.That delightful scent was much fainter in here and, as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from returning to Jeeves at the kitchen table.Was it lonely, spending one’s evening with only the company of a book and a cigarette?Or was that enough quite enough for him?I wasn’t sure. 

In the end, it took me quite a while to get to sleep that night.

* * *

After what felt like no time at all, the next day dawned.Sunshine peeked in through the curtains, birds tweeted merrily and all was jolly and good with the world.Well, all was jolly and good with the world apart from Bertram Wooster.Bertram Wooster felt like hell. 

After a night like I’d had, a hangover was to be expected.Headache, general grogginess, they were to be anticipated, what?However, the rummy thing was that I seemed to be experiencing some other, more unusual, sensations as well.Bally odd, I tell you.

As always, I remain awed by Jeeves seemingly superhuman ability to sense when the y.m. regains consciousness.The man, bless him, shimmered in with a rejuvenating cup of tea along with one of his famous restoratives approximately five seconds after I opened my eyes.Needless to say, I gulped down both and felt near re-born.

Jeeves, however, rather than gliding out of the room as per usual, remained by my bedside.Once again, I registered that delicious scent from yesterday although this time it was considerably stronger.For some inexplicable reason, I felt my cheeks grow hot and my stomach proceeded to do what felt like a series of loop-the-loops. _Curiouser and curiouser_.

Jeeves gave that funny little cough of his.“Considering last night’s proclivities, sir, how are you feeling?” 

“Oh, after imbibing your concoction, just fine, Jeeves.Terrific!”I said, flashing the pearly whites in what I hoped was a dazzling smile.“Apart from feeling a little light-headed, I’m fit as a fiddle!”

Jeeves frowned slightly.“Light-headed, sir?

“Yes, a dizzy kind of feeling.Dizzy and sort of- sort of _tingly_ , Jeeves.Bally odd sensation!Seems like the old noggin wasn’t quite screwed on right today, eh?Not to worry though!Apart from that I feel right as rain — fighting fit and all that!”

A short silence followed. I noticed that Jeeves was observing me closely and I had the uncomfortable feeling one gets when in the presence of a medical examiner or a bloodthirsty aunt.We Woosters are not accustomed to being inspected whilst still in our pyjamas and I had to resist the urge to shrink back beneath the covers.  

Finally, Jeeves broke the silence.“Sir, am I right in thinking that you are due to dine with Lady Gregson along with Sir Roderick Glossop and Ms Honoria Glossop today?”

“Why yes, Jeeves, that is unfortunately but indubitably the case!”

“I see.Considering your current,” there was the slightest pause in his speech, “ _condition_ , sir, I would deem it wise for you to cancel the visit.” 

I sat for a moment, dumbstruck. 

“Cancel the visit?” I managed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Stand up Aunt Agatha and the Glossops?”

“I would not put it that way myself, but that is the general idea, sir.”

I could restrain myself no longer.“And why is that the ‘general idea’? If I failed to show up, I’d be eaten alive by the dreaded Aunt before dinner!She’d eviscerate me, Jeeves!” 

“In all honesty, sir, I think the consequences would be worse if you did go.”

I fixed him with the beady Wooster stare.“And what do you mean by that, eh?Be straight with me, Jeeves.”

I would have gone further, but that strange scent in the air was clouding the old head somewhat.I was also a little thrown by the fact that, by now, the other man looked positively pained.He was wearing an expression that was usually reserved for only my nattiest clothing choices. 

When Jeeves did speak, it was clearly with extreme reluctance.  

“I do not wish to be indelicate, sir,” he said, “but I think it would be most unwise for you to attend the dinner party.Since last night, I have noticed that you seem to be experiencing-”

At that very moment, the doorbell rang.And rather than a lone ‘ting-a-ling-ling’, the thing just kept on ringing and ringing.The racket of it, and before breakfast at that, was enough to set the nerves on edge!

“I think you’d better get that, Jeeves,” I said cooly, trying to look as authoritative as I could whilst mostly horizontal and wearing pyjamas.“Show whoever our visitor is into the sitting room while I dress.” 

“Of course, sir.” Jeeves gave a stiff nod and retreated from the room.

Well, it turned out that the cove making free and easy with the doorbell was none other than Bingo Little. 

It transpired that he had been heartily rejected by that beta he’d been so enamoured with and required more than a little comforting.Apparently, he’d taken it upon himself to go to her lodgings after getting thoroughly sozzled at Drones the previous evening.However, the object of his affections had been less than pleased to have a thoroughly lathered Bingo crooning up at her window at some ungodly hour.She’d even gone as far as to throw a slipper at him, warning of further ballistics if he didn’t remove himself from her immediate presence and never come back. 

Needless to say, Bingo was heartbroken.I tried to assure him that, as an unattached beta himself, there were plenty more fish in the sea, but I had trouble managing the appropriate level of sincerity.To be honest, I was still distracted by that strange scent.Moreover, the funny woozy sensation I had experienced earlier seemed to be steadily intensifying.By this time I was half tempted to follow Jeeves’ advice and stay home for the day.However, a Wooster does not go back on his word and I didn’t want to appear easily persuaded.To the dinner party Bertram would go.  

By the time Bingo was restored to relative calm and had toddled off home, it was high time for me to head off to meet with the dread Aunt and assorted Glossops. 

After getting ready, I checked my reflection in the bedroom mirror and was pleased with what I saw.Despite seeming a little flushed and bright eyed, the overall appearance was rather suave. 

Jeeves, having assisted with my dressing, hovered in my peripheral vision. 

“Sir,” he said, voice surprisingly earnest, “I really think it would be most judicious if you chose to forgo the dinner party.”

So, despite my previous steadfastness, Jeeves was still entreating me not to go?I decided it was about time to bring down the old Wooster foot.

“Dash it, Jeeves,” I snapped, and rounded on the other man. 

Now, at this point I was prepared to deliver some grade A censure to the other man.However, as soon as I got a good look at the Jeevesian visage, the very words died in my mouth.

His eyes, rather than sparkling with intelligence, appeared to be sparkling with -with - well, _something_ that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.He appeared just as flushed as I was and I could see his chest rise and fall with every breath.To top it off, I could even see the faintest sheen of sweat on his brow.The sheer cognitive dissonance of the thing was enough to floor a man!Moreover, as I took in the sight, I was near overwhelmed by that delightful aroma once again.However, we Woosters are masters of self control: I ignored that funny whooping sensation the scent seemed to trigger within me. 

“Good God, man!” I gasped.“Are you alright?”

“I am fine, sir.” 

“You look like you should be staying home rather than me!You look positively pained!You have burning eyes, Jeeves! _Burning eyes!_ ”

“I assure you that I am absolutely fine, sir.As for my current condition, it is simply a natural reaction to-“

“And you’re positively flushed!Are you blushing, Jeeves?I didn’t think you _could_ blush!” 

I took a step towards him to observe the phenomenon more closely, but he positively retreated.As I did so, I couldn’t help but notice the intensification of that delicious aroma - it was enough to send one’s head spinning!

“As I was saying, sir,” he went on, “this is simply a natural response to the fact that you are presently-” 

It was at this precise moment that the clock on the mantelpiece gave a merry little chime.Well, it was really more of a death knell.What with the dizziness, being ambushed by Bingo and the unusually behaving Jeeves, time had positively gotten away from me.Upon seeing the hour, I gave a startled yelp, jumped nearly a foot in the air from shock and promptly cut Jeeves off mid sentence.

“The time, Jeeves, the time!”

“Sir?”

“I’m due to dine with Aunt Agatha in less than fifteen minutes!We must be off, Jeeves!”

“Sir, I really must entreat you to-”

“None of that, Jeeves.Now, let’s get going before Aunt Agatha decides that yours truly should be served up as the second course, what?”

I could see another slight frown play upon the Jeevesian brow and there was a moment’s pause before he responded.When he did speak, there was the barest hint of something like dejection in his voice - the kind of voice a chappie uses when they’ve done all they can, but now find themselves at the mercy of cruel fate and all that. 

“Yes, sir,” he said, before we headed out into the metrop to meet our destiny.

 


	2. Lovers and Madmen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos so far. They’ve helped me power though this chapter (so much so that this is now a three rather than a two part thing) and it’s been great fun to write! I love the way Wodehouse plays with language and it’s a lovely thing to try and emulate. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!

“Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.” 

Oscar Wilde

* * *

So, where did we get to?  You see, the main problem with the whole story malarkey is knowing when to start, stop and how to continue smoothly from where you left off.  A rummy business, I tell you!  You could say that writing is like running a one man relay race.  Readers substitute the cheering crowd, bits of paper substitute the batons and, instead of fellow runners, your own brain makes up the entire team. Or...perhaps not.  On second thought, the simile does not quite hold water.  The moment the mind’s eye began to conjure up the image of the Wooster brain, quite separate from the Wooster lemon, doing laps of my old school playing field is when it quite failed to function. 

But, I diverge. 

Where had we got to again?  Ah, yes!  The unfortunate business of the dinner party: the stage was set, actors in place and curtain ready to lift, what?  Whether the events would unfold as those of a comedy or tragedy, however, had not yet been fully ascertained.

Now, readers are observant chappies, what?  They pounce on hints when hints are presented to them; they observe and appreciate the subtle art of the skilled writer.  What I mean to say is that the eagle eyed reader may have cottoned on to the fact that, throughout the last thrilling chapter, Jeeves had been diligently trying to convey some information to the y.m. without much success.  Circumstances (by which I mean clocks, doorbells and my own fat headedness) were against him.  One can’t help but come to the conclusion that common courtesy should have been chucked out of the old window and that a more direct approach, possibly biffing me over the head and screaming it, would have been more effective.  However, Jeeves is a gentleman’s gentleman and therefore his own gentility is without question.  No biffing the y.m. over the head for Jeeves! 

Now, what hindsight has revealed is that Jeeves was very delicately trying to inform Bertram the oblivious that he had gone into heat. Dashing embarrassing, I tell you!  As I previously said, this was a new experience for me.  Must be a bit of a late bloomer, what?  Anyway, due to my woeful ignorance about the whole rummy thing, I was oblivious to the warning signs and toddled off into the metrop as usual.  A bally bad idea!  

Now, I apologise for being indelicate, but for the benefit of those of you lucky enough not to be well versed in the phys- phys- physiology — that’s the fish I’m after — of the omega, I ought to fill you in on a few things.  

You see, going into heat is a little like getting a horribly infectious disease, what?  It’s not like, say, breaking your leg.  Now, having a chum with a broken limb is is a rummy thing, yes.  However, just looking at the poor chappie, all laid up with the offending leg in a cast, doesn’t mean that you’re going to fracture any of your own limbs by osmosis, what?  What I mean to say is this: a broken limb is a strictly one man show.  

However, an omega’s heat is more like, say, the bubonic plague — and a particularly virulent variety that will strike down any alpha within a ten mile radius.  Look at a plague victim in a funny way: you’ve now got the plague.  Breathe the same air as a plague victim: you’ve now got the plague.  Have the plague victim pass you the salt at dinner: you’ve now got the plague.  Now, I might be labouring the old point a bit (along with being grossly medically inaccurate), but I think it conveys the idea pretty well.  Bertie Wooster unsuspectingly toddling into the old metrop was liable to set any alpha in the vicinity into a positive frenzy.  Moreover, going to a dinner party with Sir Roderick and Honoria Glossop, both alphas, was about the same thing as diving headfirst into a tank full of piranhas, what?

Moving swiftly on, I would like to remind you of the old adage: ignorance is bliss.  And I was in just such a blissfully ignorant state as I woozily meandered through jolly London town.  

By this point, I was so light headed that I’m surprised I hadn’t taken off and taken up an exciting new career as a blimp.  That delicious scent was still doing unusual things to the Wooster corpus: I felt as one feels when having consumed a few drinks and was basking in warm, fuzzy feelings. However, I wasn’t so far gone that I didn’t notice a couple of odd details.  Red herrings, if you will. 

Now, when in full plumage, a Wooster is used to attracting the admiring gazes of the public.  It is expected, even!  However, as the y.m. was presently dressed in fairly somber attire (as picked out by Jeeves), I found it a rummy odd thing that a considerable number of the hoi polloi were freezing in their tracks and positively gawking at me.  Eyes goggled, jaws near audibly hit the floor and I could see a number of fellows licking their very lips at the sight of me!  A dashed disconcerting thing — a Wooster is bravery itself, but being looked at like a tasty morsel ready to be gobbled up is enough to send shivers up the spine!  

Jeeves was also acting in a most strange manner: he seemed to have developed an odd compulsion to invade young Bertram Wooster’s personal space.  He walked so close to me that our shoulders were practically touching.  They did even brush a couple of times and the sensation went through me like an electric shock, stopping off in the stomach and (I’m embarrassed to admit) lower regions also. To make matters worse, a Bertram does not shimmer or glide like a Jeeves, and this particular Bertram nearly found himself tripping over his valet.  Jolly awkward, I tell you!  It also did not escape the Wooster notice that Jeeves was giving a number of my more inquisitive admirers rather hard looks. Well, very hard looks!  The man was behaving more like a bodyguard than a gentleman’s gentleman, I mean to say.  

Anyway, we finally made our way to the gates of the underworld, otherwise known as my Aunt Agatha’s.  Having felt a bit woozy for the last bit of the trip, I found myself a bit out of puff: even going up the steps to smartly rap on the front door felt like a near Herculean effort.

“Are you quite alright, sir?”  Jeeves enquired despite obviously knowing the answer.

“Fine, Jeeves, fine!  Never better!”

“Indeed, sir.”  

As we stood and waited — well, Jeeves stood, I had a wilted sort of posture — I could see the man watching at me closely. 

“Sir, I am sorry to raise the matter again,” he said, “but it is still not too late for us to go back.”

“Tosh, man.  It’s just a dinner party!  I’m hardly going to be hung, drawn and quartered over the roast potatoes!”

“I still believe that, considering your current state, attending is highly injudicious, sir.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jeeves, I’ve had quite enough of this-” but I was caught short mid scathing remark.  

As I was speaking, the man had reached out, closing the distance between us, and taken a gentle hold of the cuff of my jacket. He held it carefully in a soft grip, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he would hold my hand in the same way.

“ _Please_ , sir,” he said, eyes glimmering in a way I hadn’t seen before.“ _Please let me take you home._ ”

Please..?Now, I had heard the man say the word, but never in such a way as this.Never with such gentle earnestness, such a look to accompany it and the firm yet soft grip on my cuff.Needless to say, I found myself deeply moved.Say one thing for Bertram Wooster, say he is not made of stone!

Just as I was about to take his hand in mine, say ‘take me home, Jeeves’ as an actress on the silver screen would and pledge to faithfully follow all of his instructions in future, the front door snapped open.  The front door snapped open and we were faced with the dreaded fiend herself: Aunt Agatha.Jeeves dropped his grip on my cuff as if burned.

“You are _late_ , Bertie,” was the amiable greeting. 

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.Well, the look Aunt Agatha gave me was as good as five encyclopaedias on her opinion of me.

I made my excuses and bundled myself inside. 

“Sir Roderick and Honoria are already seated,” she sniffed, taking in the old Wooster corpus.“You’re very red, Bertie.Don’t tell me that you have been drinking?” 

“Aunt Agatha! I assure you that I would never dream-”

“Quiet, Bertie,” she snapped.“Well, your skills of communication have already sunk so low that being a drunken fool could only improve matters.”It was then that she noticed Jeeves.Her lip quirked and she hissed as an aside, “I see that you brought your keeper.”  Then, in a louder voice she said, “Jeeves, you may wait in the servants’ quarters.My own staff will do the serving.”

“Very good, Ma’am,” he said and, with a last look of concern at yours truly, shimmered away.The sense of loss was immediate: it was like a a chappie had popped along, pulled off the Wooster right arm and thrown it into the darkest recesses of Aunt Agatha’s lair.  A rummy feeling, I tell you!

Once Jeeves was gone, Aunt Agatha continued with the offensive.

“Bertie, I can’t believe how reliant you are on that man.It would have been much better if you’d left him at...”

As I was harangued by the devil in human form, I found myself unable to let the mind wander as I normally do when in such circumstances.I couldn’t help but be distracted by a malign presence hovering at the edge of my vision.

It was Thos.

The blot on the landscape that is Thomas “Thos” Gregson is, by no fault of mine own, my cousin.This spawn of Aunt Agatha, while being the apple of his mother’s eye, is near universally acknowledged as a scourge of humanity.The world would be a better, happier place if he was stuck down a well somewhere.

What was of immediate concern was that his plump face contained more evil than what was considered normal.Malevolence positively emanated from the kid!It was then that I had the vague recollection that, upon last meeting him, I had accidentally let slip that I wasn’t a fan of some actress or other.And it just happened to be that this actress I declaimed happened to be the same one the dreaded Thos had decided he was in love with.

This was an issue.Thos, plague spot that he was, had a mean and vengeful spirit.In particular, he had a mean and vengeful spirit that would enact revenge in disproportionate and unusual ways upon his unfortunate victim.Say one thing for Thos: he never forgets.

With these merry thoughts running through my fuzzy head, I managed a weak, “Hullo, Thos.” 

“Cousin Bertie,” replied the creature in a distinctly cool manner.

“Enjoying school, what?”

The only response to my fine conversational effort was the baleful eye.I saw that my comments about the actress had not been forgotten. 

I gulped, suddenly longing for the reassuring presence of Jeeves more than ever.

It was at this juncture that Aunt Agatha gave me the waspish instruction for me to enter the dining room to take my place with the triumvirate of evil that was Sir Roderick, Honoria Glossop and herself.As I was whisked out of the hall to meet my fate, I could feel the Thos’ beady eyes boring into the back of my neck.Knowing the kid’s track record for vengeance, I couldn’t suppress a shiver.

As the old saying goes, start as you intend to continue.This held true for the dinner party.Things started frightfully and only continued to go downhill from there.

I took my seat at the table.As soon as I had, I would not be exaggerating if I said that Sir Roderick began sniffing the air like one of Aunt Dahlia’s hounds.

“I say, what’s that smell?” he exclaimed.“Something smells absolutely delicious!The food, eh?You must have a first rate cook, Lady Gregson.”

Aunt Agatha thanked the man, but gave him a rather queer look as she did so.

After that, conversation was rather stilted.Both Glossops seemed more unusually preoccupied with the y.m. rather than making polite chitchat, what? As things got going with the starter (a rather limp thing that would have made Anatole weep), I happened to notice that each Glossop (by which I mean Sir Roderick and Honoria) kept throwing me odd sidelong glances.Their gazes were so frequent and so piercing that I began to worry that I had a smut on my nose or some other such schoolboy error.Anyway, the intense focus on the Wooster visage was so strong that, at one point, Aunt Agatha had to ask an ogling Sir Roderick to pass the pepper three times before he complied.By this time, Honoria had also began sniffing the air much like her uncle.Thinking she had a class A cold, I was gentlemanly enough to offer her my handkerchief (a spiffy one at that, complete with the Wooster initials embroidered in the corner), but she refused.It was all very queer, I tell you!

To avoid transcribing every syllable of the utterly wretched conversation so far, here’s a representative sample:

Aunt Agatha:Sir Roderick, how are you finding London at this time of year?I can’t help but find the humidity most displeasing.

_Considerable pause.Sir Roderick stares dreamily in the direction of one Bertram Wooster._

Sir Roderick:Yes.You’re right...Most humid.

Aunt Agatha:And how do you plan to pass the summer months?Will you stay in the capital or return to the country?

Sir Roderick:Indeed... Most...humid.

I will stop there to avoid causing the inadvertent death of the reader from boredom. 

Anyway, despite all the sniffing and staring, the meal still somehow managed to bob along.Well, ‘bobbing along’ is a jolly sort of phrase and implies enjoyment, which would be a inaccurate.We Woosters value candour above all other virtues, so I will rephrase: time passed, and slowly at that.Mercifully, the starter plates were finally whisked away and replaced with the main course.

At this stage, things took a sudden turn for the worse.Honoria, who (apart from her sniffing) had as of yet had been a paragon of virtue, began to act out.

“I say, I’m positively flushed - isn’t it hot in here?Could we open a window?” she suddenly declared, beginning to fan herself with a napkin.After a moment, her gaze fell on me.She smiled brightly and I had a sudden sense of foreboding.“I say, Bertie, aren’t _you_ hot?”

The sound of the old Wooster first name on her lips was enough to make me choke on a sautéed potato.“Hot? N-no,” I finally managed to bleat out.“At least, not last time I checked.”

She laughed, a low and throaty sound. “Really?You _look_ hot. _Very_ hot.Just look at how rosy you are.”As she spoke, she reached out a hand to trace a finger down Wooster cheek.I shot back in my chair so quickly that I’m surprised I didn’t ricochet.

“Rosy?Not at all!Just a healthy complexion, what?”

She gave that laugh again.“Why don’t you take off that jacket of yours to help you cool down?”

“Er, no thanks.I rather like the jacket on, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Oh Bertie, do be a sport. _Take it off._ And why not do away with that tie of yours while you’re at it...”

Now, what was the dreaded Aunt Agatha doing as he nephew was forced to defend his virtue?Well, it appeared that she was momentarily stupefied, if such a thing is possible. Caught between being pleased that her selected alpha (Honoria) was showing interest in one useless omega nephew (Bertram) and being outraged by the flagrant breaches of etiquette, the Aunt was quite speechless.However, she eventually settled for giving me the basilisk stare - as if this all was somehow my fault!Well, in hindsight, I suppose it sort of was.

By half way through the main course, things were getting really thick. The sight of Sir Roderick positively drooling over yours truly is an image too terrible to do justice with mere words.He had something of the bright eyed stare of a mad ferret, all the while twirling his moustache and making veiled comments about arranging ‘private appointments’ so that we could discuss the state of the Wooster lemon. 

However, Sir Roderick’s behaviour was nothing in comparison to Honoria’s.It was enough to stun a man!Near unthinkable for a member of the fairer sex!Having finally given up on forcing the y.m. to disrobe, she proceeded to stare directly at me whilst eating her asparagus in what can only be described as a ‘provocative’ manner!The nerve!Once she gave that up for a lark, she tried to to feed me titbits of food from her very own fork!

“Come on, Bertie, don’t you want to try some of the cordon bleu?” she crooned.

I dodged, narrowly avoiding having my eye taken out by the offending piece of cutlery.“No, thank you!I’m just fine, thanks!”

“Oh, _go on_ , Bertie!Just a little bit...”

“No!No - quite alright!Quite alright - thanks!”

Ah Jeeves, how I longed for you in my hour of need!The Wooster lemon was still spinning, but the old spirit of self preservation was just about keeping me afloat.But for how long I could keep fending off the Glossops, however, was uncertain.

Having just survived Honoria’s best attempts to blind me, a rummy thing happened.Something brushed against my leg.I couldn’t help but start and give a little yelp, earning a burning look from Aunt Agatha that was nearly enough to melt my head.Now, in certain households with dogs, it is not unusual to experience a bit of snuffling from beneath the dinner table along with the wet doggy nose against the old leg, what?But this was no doggy nose!

There it was again!Had that been someone’s foot?I considered the matter.It had!Someone was trying to play ‘footsie’ with Bertram Wilberforce Wooster!Sensing another impending attack, I retreated to the back of my seat, tucking my feet near all the way under my chair.The bally thing was that I couldn’t identify my assailant.Honoria was the prime suspect, but I didn’t like the nasty gleam in Sir Roderick’s eyes...

It was at this point, just when things seemed most dire, just when the happy ending seemed completely eclipsed from view, that fate finally sided with the young master.

Still trying to avoid further molestation of the feet, I noticed something odd.I clung on to it like a drowning man to a rubber ring.

“A drip, eh?” I exclaimed loudly, looking to the dish of broccoli. 

“What?” snapped Aunt Agatha, conveying with a mere glance that the only ‘drip’ in the present vicinity was me.

“A drip, on the broccoli.”I pointed to illustrate my point.“Look, there it is again!On the asparagus!”I announced triumphantly.“And now on the cabbage!”

Despite all probability and consideration of tropospheric conditions, it most certainly now appeared to be raining in doors.The gentle pitter patter of water on the dining table and its assorted foodstuffs filled the room.Even the glassy eyed Sir Roderick took a break from ogling at the y.m. and managed, “What, what?Why’s my head wet?”

The collective gaze was inevitably drawn to the ceiling.Now, the English language has many words for wet.Soggy, damp and moist are to list just a few.Well, when it came to the ceiling, ‘wet’ was the ticket.There must have been a near astronomical leak in the floor above as the occasional drip on the dining table was now turning into an insistent trickle of water.

Aunt Agatha immediately sent one of the waiting staff to inspect.He was back in less than a minute and looked rather strained - a cove with bad news to impart to the dreaded Aunt.

“Well, what is the cause of this?” she snapped at the poor fellow.

The chap visibly flinched.“There seems to be a bit of a flood in the second floor bathroom, Ma’am,” he managed.“From what we can guess, the taps have been left running.”

“Well, turn them off then!”

“We’re trying, Ma’am, but the door appears to be locked from the inside.”

“What?” Aunt Agatha’s voice could have cut through glass.

“We’re trying our best, Ma’am, but it might be best if you moved to the drawing room.It looks like-”

At this point, the young man suddenly stopped speaking, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling with what would be best described as abject horror.Naturally, the rest of us stopped and looked too.

The ceiling, complete with light fitting and decorative moulding, had graduated from ‘wet’ with full honours and was now well on its way to achieving ‘drenched’ or even ‘saturated’.The thing had began to sag rather worryingly and an ominous creaking noise was to be heard.It was the kind of thing that rather held the attention.

Aunt Agatha, looking like a lady about to advise immediate retreat, opened her mouth to issue instructions.However, she never even managed to utter the first syllable.The ceiling apparently had an impeccable sense of timing and, just then, decided to collapse.


	3. Man is a Giddy Thing

“If you are not long, I will wait for you all my life.”

Oscar Wilde

* * *

I have often reflected that endings are rummy things.  I mean to say, any writer worth his salt would take a beginning over an ending any day of the week.  Let me tell you, endings come with baggage.  Loose ends, no matter how numerous or inconvenient, simply must be tied up — and woe betide the hapless author who fails to deliver the much anticipated ‘happily ever after’.  I suppose what I’m really getting at is this: readers get so dashed worked up over silliest things.  To illustrate, say little Tommy Trumpington’s beloved cat ‘Tiddles’ went missing in Chapter Three, what?  Got stuck up a tree or something — such things happen all the time.  Now, here’s the sticking point: in reality, cat owners deal with missing feline companions with a healthy dose of the English stiff upper lip.  Yes, they might be jolly sad for a time, but they then buy a shiny new cat or something and rightly move on.  However, this is not so for the reader. The reader, with terrier like persistence, will go on worrying about the dratted Tiddles (a minor character at best, not really worth thinking about) for the remaining fifty chapters of the entire bally book.   And, if for any reason Tiddles is omitted from the narrative, never to be seen again, the consequences would be dire.  There would be much finger pointing, stern letters to publishers along with less than flattering reviews.  As I said, endings have baggage: readers want their stories neatly wrapped, packaged and tied up with string. Where life is one gargantuan mess, and a glorious one at that, we so desperately want our writing to be neat and tidy.  

I diverge, however.  As things seem to be coming to a close, I better get on with it, eh?  No more of cats, the nature of narrative or the dreaded ‘happily ever after’.

If I remember correctly, we left off when things were in a pretty sorry state of affairs.Let me tell you, as I found myself drenched with water, coated with plaster and more bits of Aunt Agatha’s ceiling than one could shake a stick at, my own ‘happily ever after’ felt jolly well out of reach!Now, we Woosters are made of stern stuff, but enduring the hellish combination of a ferocious Aunt, predatory dinner guests and a structural collapse was rather pushing it!I’d been through the ringer and was about ready to resign myself to cruel fate and whatnot.

I wasn’t alone in my misery, however.Where the dreaded Honoria was mercifully blocked from view by a large pile of debris, Sir Roderick was quite visible.The image was a rather striking one. He wallowed in the wreckage like a moustachioed sea beast and, combined with the steady stream of water trickling down on him from above, appeared more like a poorly made fountain than a loony doctor.To add to the picture, he was also doing a lot of shouting and waving the old arms about.You see, Aunt Agatha’s bathtub had decided to make a bid for freedom.It was attempting to move on from its current residence and begin a new life in the Aunt’s dining room.The majestically sized tub was hanging precariously from the gaping hole in the ceiling and Sir Roderick didn’t seem best pleased that he was stuck underneath it.

Despite all the commotion from Sir Roderick, Aunt Agatha was the undeniable star of the show.Coated with a layer of pale dust from the aforementioned ceiling and a liberal sprinkling of plaster, she looked like the sort of statue you might find looming over a chappie’s grave — a dire warning against all mortal sins and all that.

“Turn off the water!Turn off the water!” she screeched over the ominous creaking of the bathtub — and I would not be exaggerating if I said the very windows rattled in their frames at the sound of it.

Now, in one of his literary moments, Jeeves had quoted one of those bookish types by saying, ‘Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.’Where Jeeves’ words of wisdom normally flit merrily between one Wooster ear and the other (without much going on in between), this one rather stuck in the mind.It seemed like such a rummy, silly thing to say.I am not of the seafaring persuasion, but I’m fairly certain that if I was to set sail sans map, rudder or any clue of where I was going, I’d be shipwrecked or eaten by sharks before a chappie could say ‘help’. Well, despite my reservations, the phrase did actually apply to situation I found myself in.

While Aunt Agatha and Sir Roderick were presently occupied (either by getting very cross or avoiding death by bathtub), the old sense of self-preservation kicked in.Some part of the Wooster lemon — probably the section intent on putting as much distance between myself, the dread Aunt and assorted Glossops as possible — fired up and rallied the survival instinct.Quite independent of any conscious thought of my own, I found myself standing, stepping daintily over the assorted detritus and escaping into the hall.

Things had heated up a bit since I was last there.Servants darted about with buckets and there were loud thumps from upstairs — some coves were clearly trying to break down the bathroom door to stem the flood.To add to the general cacophony, the Aunt’s shrieks were still clearly audible in the background.A perfect picture of chaos, I tell you!

As I took all this in, I vaguely noticed Thos’ smirking face peeking out at me from the stairwell.Now, as a plant can sustain itself with sunlight, Thos does much the same with the misery and suffering of humankind.I consider it an inherited trait from the vampiric Aunt and the reason why he seemed so smug in the face of such carnage.Anyway, I gave the little blighter only the briefest of glances: there was only one person I was looking for.

And there, like an oasis of serenity in a sea of disarray, he was.Jeeves.Perfection in the form of a gentleman’s gentleman.The sight of his familiar face and crisp suit was like a bastion of hope in the darkness.I’m not embarrassed to admit that the very sight of him — combined with the delicious aroma that enveloped me as I drew nearer— nearly brought a tear to the Wooster eye.Dashed moving, I tell you!Anyway, I drifted over to him as if carried by a current, feeling all the world like a lost sheep finally returned to the fold.

I toddled over.“Jeeves?” 

“Sir?” 

_Had I ever truly appreciated the soothing tone of his voice before then?The bedrock of his calm composure?_

“Take me home, Jeeves,” I said, feeling much like that Hercules chappie must have done just after his labours.“Take me home.”

Now, Jeeves’ is a master at maintaining a serene expression: the man must be an absolute devil at the card table!However, I would have sworn that I saw the faintest flicker of a smile tug at his lips.

“It would be my pleasure, sir,” he said, eyes glittering.“Now, if you would step this way...”

I never fail to be impressed by how Jeeves seems to be prepared for every eventuality.A cab was already waiting for us outside the and — although I would be so crass as to say that Jeeves bundled me out of the front door and into the waiting motor — there was a definite sense of urgency to his actions. 

Unfortunately, the cab turned out to be as much of a curse as it was a blessing.

Let us weigh up the arguments.On the one hand, it provided a speedy getaway from the stronghold of the dreaded Aunt.On the other hand, it meant that I was in a confined space with a certain valet. Now, under normal circumstances, this would not present an issue.However, these were not normal circumstances.I was knee deep in pharaohs — pheromones, I mean — and the close proximity with Jeeves was affecting me in a bally queer way.

Being boxed in with my valet was doing _things_ to the Wooster corpus: the dizziness had returned with returned with renewed vigour and I swayed as if I was three sheets to the wind.Moreover, I felt rummy hot.Now, this was not the usual ‘tra-la-la, reach for the sun cream’ sort of hot, but a different fish altogether.It was something deeper.The reason why it’s called going into ‘heat’ makes much more sense now, what?Anyway, I’d have to admit that I was so affected that I, a man most fond of shirtlings, jackets and the like, would have liked to do nothing more than strip off the whole lot just to get a bit of a breeze, what?Thankfully, I managed to restrain the urge — and therefore also avoid a short stay in prison — loosening the old tie was about as far as I got.

I must have looked a jolly state as even the cabbie, a rather mean looking cove with beady eyes, took note of my sorry condition.

“He alright, mister?” he asked Jeeves, eying me suspiciously in the rear-view mirror.“I’m done for the day in an hour and don’t want no funny business.”

“I assure you that there is no cause for concern.”Although Jeeves’ voice was the pinnacle of tranquility, I noticed that he opened the window on his side of the car fully as he spoke.

Now, I had always been a man with an ambivalent attitude towards scent.Half of those dreadful girls ousted upon me by the unspeakable Aunt were near drowned in perfume.The girls thinks it gives them allure when in reality it gives everyone around them a headache. However, I was having to reevaluate my opinion in the face of new evidence: Jeeves.Despite the open window, I was still positively swimming in that rich scent the man was now synonymous with.I found myself drinking it in (as far as anyone can drink anything via the nose) although the more I breathed it in, more fuddled I became.Very fuddled indeed!

“I say, Jeeves?”I said, pulling at my collar.

“Yes, sir?”

“When did it get so rummy hot in here?”

“It is rather humid, sir, but the temperature is not above what may be expected at this time of year.”

“All the same, I’m roasting.”

A few minutes passed in silence.We’d hit a spot of traffic and it slowed things down considerably.As we waited to get going again, I found my attention irresistibly drawn to my companion. 

“Jeeves?” I said, continuing to gaze intently at him.

“Sir?”

“Have you always looked so... _so..._ ”I found that the words I wanted were just out of reach.“You know, have you always looked like _that_?”

Jeeves raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch.“In what way do you mean, sir?”

I waved a hand vaguely.“You know: the air of refinement, the fine complexion, _the hair._ ”Inspiration struck.“And your nose, Jeeves!You should be proud to be the owner of such a nose!”

There was a brief but rather rummy pause.I began to wonder whether I had said the wrong thing.

“Thank you, sir,” Jeeves said, tone carefully neutral.“I do endeavour to maintain a certain standard of appearance.”

At this point, any other chappie would have got the hint and stopped talking, but not Bertram Wooster.You see, when a normal person feels they have rather put their foot in it, they normally stop and make hasty retreat.However, I’ve never really picked up the knack.When I put my foot in it, I get into diving position and promptly follow the foot with the rest of the entire Wooster frame.

“Eyelashes,” I blurted out.

It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw a faint flush creeping onto the Jeevesian cheek.

“Eyelashes, sir?”

“Yes, they’re...Well, you have bally long eyelashes, Jeeves!”I moved closer to get a decent look. “You know, I’ve always been of the opinion that long lashes are a fine thing on a man!Rather fetching, what?Must be the envy of all the ladies, eh?”

There was another of those rummy, awkward pauses.

“Really, sir?” he said finally.“I had not noticed.Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

“Not a problem, Jeeves.Happy to help.”

Like a moth to the flame, I continued to observe the other man closely.The strong jaw, the glossy lustre of his dark hair, the curve of his lips...And the more I looked, the more that odd twisting, whooping sensation started up in my stomach again.Very strange, I tell you!

I’m not sure how much time elapsed as I stared with hawklike intensity, but a noise eventually broke my concentration.It was that little funny coughing sound Jeeves insists on making when he has something to say.

“What’s that, Jeeves?”I said.

“If I might make a suggestion, sir?”

“Of course!Suggest away, my man!”

“Perhaps you would find that you were more comfortable if you were sat on your _own_ side of the car?”

I looked around in shock.In my intense focus on the other man’s appearance, I hadn’t realised that I’d crept up so close to the poor fellow that I was practically sitting on his lap. 

“So sorry, Jeeves!” I said, sliding back to my own side of the car.“I’m sure you don’t want a lump like me sat on your lap, what?Save it for the ladies, eh?”

Another of those bally pauses.I somehow had the rather rummy feeling that I’d managed to put my foot in my mouth once again - at this rate, I could go for a world record.

“Indeed, sir,” Jeeves said at last.Was it my imagination, or was he gripping his hands together rather tightly?

I kept quiet for the rest of the ride and so did Jeeves.As we drew nearer and nearer to Wooster HQ, I found myself experiencing strangest urges.I positively longed to move closer to the other man, to sit side by side with him, to rest my dizzy head on his shoulder and for him to enfold me in his arms — among other things. Well, it didn’t happen.Mind you, it wasn’t because I didn’t want it to.I just couldn’t quite work myself up to it.We Woosters are courage itself, but the sight of Jeeves, hands white knuckled in his lap and staring pointedly at the road ahead, just felt so very far out of my reach.

* * *

“I say, Jeeves, I’m still feeling rather queer — bring me a brandy and soda, would you?  After my ordeal, a stiff drink may help to soothe the jangled nerves.”

I was feeling rather sorry for myself.Upon leaving the cab I’d been a bit unsteady on my pins; I’d swayed like a tree in a high gale during the short walk up to the old flat and was currently leaning against the mantelpiece for support.As I was out of the public gaze, I’d shrugged out of my jacket, discarded my tie and undone the top few buttons of my shirt. 

Once Jeeves had provided me with the beverage in question, he didn’t shimmer off to his lair as per usual. 

“Sir, I have a matter of some importance which I need to discuss with you.”

“Oh, righto,” I said with considerably more vim and vigour than I felt.“Fire away!”

Jeeves nodded.“I apologise to speak of matters of such a delicate nature, sir, but you appear to be experiencing the oestrus phase of your hormonal cycle.”

I thought for a moment.I paused.I then thought for another moment. No — not one jot of it had sunk into the Wooster brain.

“In English this time, eh Jeeves?”

The man nodded and he proceeded to speak with a slightly pained expression: brevity is anathema to Jeeves.“You seem to have gone into heat, sir.”

I’m glad I hadn’t just taken a sip of my drink, because I would have had a short but dramatic career as a fountain.“ _What?!_ ”

“Forgive me for not informing you earlier, sir, but I struggled to find the righttime to raise the issue.It first came to my attention last night.”

“ _In heat?!_ ”

“Yes, sir.”

The thing struck me like a freight train.I hadn’t really had a proper heat before, but surely I should have gotten a hint, what?“By Jove!You- you mean all the funny feelings, all the funny thoughts, the staring in the street, the rabid Glossops — _that scent you have!_ All because I’m in _heat_?!” 

Chalk it down to a collection of nervous excitement, having just consumed a stiff drink and spending most of my day toddling round up to my eyeballs in pheromones, but at this point I went rather weak at the knees.Positively limp, even!Everything — the dizziness, the scent, the rummy feeling in my stomach — seemed to intensify and rather got the better of me.

Jeeves, swiftly realising that the y.m. was about to have as much structural integrity as, say, a piece of cooked spaghetti, came to my aid. 

He appeared as if by magic at my side and took a steadying hold of my arm.“Are you quite alright, sir?”

Now, this contact seemed to bring about a transformation in me.I felt rather like a chappie must do when struck by lightning - a sudden jolt and then merry oblivion.The direct contact from Jeeves seemed to fire up and set to purring the ‘omega’ part of my brain.On the other hand, the (relatively) rational ‘Bertram Wooster’ section seemed to pop off on holiday.Most vexing, I tell you!I just hope this makes my following behaviour that little bit more understandable.

I twisted in the man’s grip so we were face to face.Like earlier that day, I could see that Jeeves was clearly affected by the present circumstances — there was a slight flush to his cheeks and I was close enough that I could hear his ragged breathing.Strangely enough, the sight and sound of it rather pleased me. 

I reached out and idly ran my hands over the fabric of his suit jacket.It felt soft to the touch.“You know, Jeeves, I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.And all thanks to you — you’ve been quite the knight in shining armour.”

Jeeves didn’t look me in the eye.He was standing very still and he kept his gaze carefully fixed about six inches to the left of my head. 

I could see the man swallow before he spoke.“I am afraid the issue is not quite resolved, sir.”

“Oh?And why’s that?”I pressed my hands against his chest, warm to the touch, and felt that noble heart of his thudding out a quick rhythm.Jeeves, however, didn’t return the gesture: his hands were clenched at his sides.

“Sir,” he said, and I am sure he sounded rather breathless, “I am finding it increasingly difficult to maintain the appropriate distance between master and employee sir.”

“ _Hmm?_ ”I leaned forward to sniff at the nape of his neck — it was where that delicious scent seemed to be strongest.

“It may be of some surprise to you, sir, but I am nearing the limit of my self control.”

“Once more with meaning, eh?”I pressed a kiss against the soft skin just above his collar bone.I could feel him tremble in my arms.

“Sir, I apologise to be indelicate, but-” I traced his jawline with soft kisses: he shuddered in my grasp.

I smiled languidly. “Don’t worry yourself, Jeeves,” I said.“I always thought self control was overrated anyway.”

With that, I leaned forward to capture his lips in a kiss.

Jeeves, however, pulled back suddenly.Gripping my shoulders, he pushed me away from him and held me at arm’s length — presumably because I would collapse without propping up.I vaguely noticed that several strands of his dark hair had come loose and were dangling down over his forehead.

“Sir, I am an alpha,” he said, speaking firmly and slowly.“Due to your condition, you are not thinking clearly.” 

Now, I could wrap my foggy head around that fact.My spirits leapt at the knowledge.“ _An alpha?_ ”

“Yes, sir.As it has never as of yet impeded my working life, I did not feel it necessary to mention it.”He paused for a moment, making his mind up about something, and then continued.“I would recommend a prompt course of action, sir.”

I flashed him the pearly whites.“I can think of one ‘course of action’ that would be most mutually satisfying, eh Jeeves?”

Needless to say, my latest contribution was ignored.

“I will vacate the premises, sir.I would recommend that you stay indoors keep the apartment locked against anyone, including myself, until the earliest of tomorrow.”He released my shoulders and took a step back.“I will be leaving, now, sir.”

“Jeeves!”On instinct, I reached out and grabbed at his hand.The palm was clammy and warm in my grip.I pulled him close to me, wrapping my arms around him and moving my hands across his broad back.It would have been an embrace, but Jeeves didn’t return the gesture.He still insisted on holding his hands out to the side, gripping nothing but air.

“Sir,” the man’s voice sounded rather strained.“I feel it necessary to reassert the fact that I am finding it increasingly difficult to repress my baser instincts.”

“Dash repressing things!”

“I repeat: you are not thinking clearly, sir.”

“Dash thinking clearly!”I snapped.“Don’t go, Jeeves.I need you — I need you _now_.”I pushed our lips together in a rough and sudden kiss: the sensation was electric.I pulled away, and I could feel the rigid tension in his muscles, hear his panting breath.“ _Please_ — I’ve never felt like this before — I need you — _I want..._ ”

And, just for a moment, I could feel him melt into my embrace: he enfolded me in his arms and gripped me to him with all the fervent passion I could have ever desired.But, it was short lived.Just as I relaxed against him, he pulled back and I was once again held at arm’s length from him.

Now, I was vaguely aware that the man was speaking to me.However, I was far too distracted by the feeling of his firm grip on my shoulders, the smooth curve of his lips and a hundred other tiny, precious things to properly take in what was being said.

One word, however, did manage to slip through.

“A bath?”I repeated, nonplussed.

“Indeed, sir.”

“But — _why a bath?_ ”

“Sir, I would like to take the opportunity to remind you of the events of this evening.You are presently covered in a thin coating of ceiling plaster and are still slightly damp.”

I looked down at myself and found he was correct.I’m ashamed to say that, from all my grabbing and embracing, I’d even left traces of it on Jeeves’ once immaculate suit.

“Oh,” I said, putting two and two together, “you’d like me to be clean for you?”

I’d never really seen Jeeves flinch before — I didn’t think him capable of it — but he did at my words.He released his grip on my shoulders.Very quietly, he said, “Yes, sir.”

After that he shimmered off to run the bath at record speed.I followed him as far as the bedroom but he locked the door to the en-suite: I had to content myself sitting on the side of the bed and swinging my legs to pass the time.

After what felt like an age, it was finally ready.Jeeves shot out of the bathroom and promptly pulled one of those disappearing acts of his — a bally shame as I was going to ask him to come and join me. 

Anyway, I bathed.Once all traces of the incident at Aunt Agatha’s had been removed, I threw on a towel and went hunting for Jeeves.I’d expected him to wait for me in the bedroom, but there was no sign of the man.My pyjamas were laid out on the bed as per usual, but that was it.There was a distinct absence of Jeeves.Thinking that he must have returned to his lair, I tried to exit the room to go and fetch him.I couldn’t, however. 

The door was locked. 

Realisation dawned.Stunned, I staggered over to the bed and sat down.Despite the dizziness, despite the whooping sensation still twisting my stomach and, most of all, despite the heat, I couldn’t help but put my head in my hands and try to hold back my sudden tears. 

Yes, endings are rummy things, and there’s nothing worse than a sad one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a moment, I was darkly tempted to simply end it here as a sort of horrible ‘SURPRISE!’ finish, but quickly discovered that it would probably upset me more than anyone else.
> 
> This and the following chapter were intended to be released as one. However, as I found I had a six thousand words (and still growing!) beast on my hands, I decided to split it in two. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and any comments/kudos you are kind enough to leave. You guys are the best. 🙂


	4. Get Thee a Wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are interested in a rather more ‘adult’ look at Jeeves and Wooster’s relationship, watch this space.  That particular event is going to be released as a separate but linked part of this work.  In other words, there’s going to be optional smut.  As a person who sometimes skips sex scenes in fics, I thought I’d give you the choice to either avoid or enjoy it.
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for reading and I hope you like the final instalment!

“The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” Oscar Wilde

* * *

Now, I find myself forced to admit that my morning cup of tea — as provided by the inestimable Jeeves — has rather become the bedrock upon which the success of the rest of my day relies.  As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, Jeeves has the near supernatural ability to detect when the y.m. has regained consciousness.  Typically, the average gap between the opening of the Wooster eyes and Jeeves gliding in with the restoring beverage is between five and ten seconds.  It’s rather become a necessary essential of my daily routine, what?  One of the countless small ways my valet makes the life of Bertram Wooster a brighter, happier place.

This particular morning, however, was different.

As I have already made clear, Jeeves normally provides me with at least a few seconds to contemplate my general existence before shimmering in. This, however, was not presently the case.To be perfectly candid, I’m half convinced that the man must have been hovering by my bedside — teapot in hand — in order to supply the drink as soon as the slightest signs of life presented themselves.Although the gift of hindsight has now revealed that this is simply one of the man’s funny little ways of showing that he cares, I was unaware of this at the time.At the time, it was like one of those ‘chicken and egg’ scenarios — if you get my meaning.Was it the ‘clink’ of a cup of tea being placed on the bedside table that woke Bertram Wooster, or was it Bertram Wooster waking up that resulted in the ‘clink’ or a cup of tea?A mystery for the ages.

Anyway, no matter what the cause, wake up I did. 

“Good morning, sir.”

I sat up, blearily taking in the sights of the Wooster bedroom.From the state of disarray the sheets were in, I’d done so much twisting and turning in my sleep that I may as well have been dancing the foxtrot swiftly followed by a vigorous tango.Vague snatches of dreams still tugged at my attention (I had a vivid recollection of a frightful one featuring the dreaded Aunt, Sir Roderick and a talking bathtub), but I batted them to one side. 

“Ah, Jeeves,” I said, voice a raspy shadow of its normal fine self, “good morning.”A blatant lie: there was surely nothing about this particular morning that could ever hope to be good.

As the Wooster lemon transitioned between the land of nod and the land of the living, the events of last night had come back to me with depressing clarity.Enter mortification, stage left, followed closely by shame and humiliation.I had to resist a powerful the urge to shrink beneath the sheets and play dead.

“ _-feeling, sir?_ ”

It was only then that I realise that Jeeves had been speaking: I’d been so wrapped up in my discomfiture that I’d completely missed it.He was looking at me expectantly for a response.

I came clean.“Sorry, what was that?”

“I was just enquiring as to whether you had recovered from yesterday’s episode, sir.”

“Oh,” I said, my stomach giving a nasty little lurch.“That.Fine, Jeeves, I’m fine.”Although in all honesty I felt anything but.

You see, although the state of the Wooster corpus seemed restored to relative normality — the rummy, tingling sensation was only a fraction of what it had been and I could only detect a hint of Jeeves’ scent — it was not the same for the Wooster heart.At the thought of last night’s events, my chest positively hurt!The memory of my conduct towards Jeeves coupled with the fact that he had to resort to locking me in my own bedroom to escape my advances were almost more than I could bear! 

Bad times indeed.Even my cup of tea seemed to be staring accusingly at me — I couldn’t bring myself to even take one sip!To make matters worse, Jeeves didn’t shimmer off, therefore giving my miserable state an audience.Unable to bring my eyes to my valet, I stared at the covers instead — I imagine I had much the same look a dog does when discovered next to a guilty half chewed shoe.

Surprisingly, it seemed that Jeeves was just as tongue tied as I was.If I was in a better frame of mind, I would have marvelled at how my magnificently verbose manservant actually appeared at a loss for words.When I did risk a glance at him, he looked for all the world like a chappie who has something important to say but aren’t quite sure how.It was an odd, unfamiliar expression on a man usually as imperturbable as Jeeves. 

When he did finally speak, I had the sense he was choosing his words rather carefully.“I apologise to raise the matter, sir, but it may be judicious to discuss the events of yesterday evening.”

I hadn’t thought it possible for my spirits to sink lower, but the universe once again proved me wrong.To be perfectly frank, a post-mortem of yesterday’s escapades had about the same level of appeal as being marooned on a desert island with my Aunt Agatha.

“Oh...”In normal circs, I quite like my apartment— it’s a rather jolly place, has a nice ambience and all that — but I presently wished that I was anywhere else in the world than in my bedroom with Jeeves.The bottom of the River Thames would have done nicely.

There was a rather rummy pause.I suddenly developed a keen interest in the fingernails of my right hand.

“Sir, I wanted to make you aware that I consider yesterday’s events with the deepest regret.Regarding my actions, I would like you to know that-”

As Jeeves spoke, a horrible premonition came upon me.Was the man about to apologise? _To me?_ Did he, paragon of saintly virtue that he was, feel it necessary to ask for my forgiveness?I near shuddered at the very thought, outraged on his behalf.The code of the Woosters does not allow for the shirking of moral accountability — letting hapless manservants take the flak is simply not cricket!

“No, Jeeves, it’s quite alright,” I interjected, taking on the role of repentant sinner with appropriate aplomb.“There is no need for you to justify your actions.” 

If such a thing is possible, Jeeves looked taken aback.“Sir, I wanted to make it clear that I-”

“No, Jeeves, that won’t be necessary,” despite how wretched I felt, I spoke with manly firmness.“What I did is inexcusable.My actions towards you were- were-Well, we are both aware of what an ass I made of myself, and my behaviour must have you bally uncomfortable, what?”

“Sir, I-”

“And... if you don’t want... if you don’t want to work for me anymore,” the words caught in my throat, but I went on valiantly, “I would totally understand.I’d be sure to give you a good reference, you don’t need to worry about that.” 

“That will not be necessary, sir!” 

It was the first time Jeeves had ever raised his voice in my presence, and it momentarily shocked me into silence.Oddly, it seemed to have the same effect on him as he simply stood there as if frozen.His expression — normally so serene — was an odd mix of horror and aversion that I had only seen once before when faced with my spiffy new pair of emerald green brogues. 

I smiled ruefully and looked away.I very much imagine I was like one of those Byronic heroes so popular in Victorian fiction.

“Well,” I said, “that’s very good of you, Jeeves.Your loyalty, although misplaced, is admirable.”

“I am afraid that I would have to disagree with you, sir.”His voice was very soft.“I do not believe my loyalty has ever been misplaced.”

I smiled again, although it probably had more of the rictus about it than genuine mirth.

“Thank you, Jeeves, but comforting me is quite unnecessary.”A slight frown entered the Jeevesian countenance at this, and I rushed to continue before he could contradict me.“You know,” I went on, “I feel like going on a trip — a bit of a change in scenery.”

“Ah — very good, sir,” he said, and I could sense his relief that the conversation was returning to safer waters.“What is your desired destination?”

“I haven’t seen the old Aunt Dahlia for a while — I think it’s about time for me to take her up on her last invitation.”

“A splendid idea, sir.I can complete the necessary preparations this morning.When would you like me to bring around the two seater?”

“That won’t be necessary, Jeeves.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll go alone,” I said.“You can man the fort here while I’m gone, what?”

There a moment’s pause before the other man’s reply.

“I see, sir.Very good, sir.”

Once the door had closed after Jeeves with a soft click, I got out of bed.I picked up my teacup, walked through to the en-suite and then poured the cup’s entire contents down the sink.

* * *

“Bertie — and I say this as a woman who would never have dreamed of wishing such a thing in her life — but I do declare that if you do not return to your normal gormless self _this very instant_ _,_ I will be forced to resort to violence!”

“I have no idea what you mean, Aunt Dahlia.”

We were stood in Brinkley Court’s parlour.Despite the rather charming surroundings, the aged relative felt this was as fine a setting as any to lambast her hapless nephew.There was much jabbing of fingers and, as much as I love and admire the woman, her complexion does run to the rosier side of the tracks.She was presently so red that you could have entered her head in a county fair and expected it to win first prize for finest tomato.

“No idea - _no idea!”_ she went on.“ _This_ — whatever _this_ is — has near driven the whole house insane!And I am ordering you to stop right away!”

“But I really don’t know what you-”

“ _Be quiet_ , Bertie!You, a fellow normally ready and willing to eat me out of house and home, have barely touched your food these last two weeks.It’s giving Anatole nervous fits!”

“Yes, but I-”

“And you have shown no interest in the upcoming race, despite Clyde van Biscuit being an absolute cert; you’ve been pacing in the garden so much that you have worn yourself a track; and, to top it all off, I found you reading poetry the other day.Poetry! _You!_ ”

That ruffled my feathers a bit.In injected a bit of ice into the Wooster tone: “I don’t see why I can’t read a bit of Hardy when the mood takes me.”

“Bertie, as much as I love you, you are undeniably a dumb brick of the first degree.If you picking up a volume of poetry isn’t an indicator for the end of days, then I don’t know what is!”

I couldn’t find fault with this argument, so I let it stand.

Seeing that her current approach was having limited success, it was at this juncture that the Aunt seemed to decide a change of strategy was in order: reprimands hadn’t proved bounteous, so a more delicate approach was called for.Now, my Aunt Dahlia — in all respects an admirable woman — was raised in the saddle and enjoys nothing more than blasting the local wildlife to bits in the name of sport.Viz, she has about as much delicacy as an Alaskan grizzly bear.Her determination in the face of adversity, however, was most admirable.

“ _Bertie_ ,” she crooned in a tone of voice she had obviously never had call to use before in her life.I shuddered instinctively.“You know that, as your loving aunt, I have your best interests at heart.Yes?”

“Yes, old bean, of course.”

“Good, Bertie.Now, although you are undoubtedly a fathead and an abysmal chump, you are not a malicious one: although the brain is missing in action, the heart is in the right place.Don’t you think it’s about time to end this?You’re driving yourself and everyone else half mad, and I can’t imagine you did anything quite so bad as to torture yourself like this, eh?”

Surprisingly, I found myself rather moved by her words.The Wooster heart, which presently resembled nothing so much as a misshapen lump of the ice, began to thaw.It nearly brought a tear to the old eye, what?

Sending she was on to a winner, she lay a matronly hand on my shoulder. “Look, Bertie, why don’t you call for Jeeves?If that valet of yours can’t sort you out, then no one can.”

I stiffened instantly, pulling away from her grip.

“No, that is quite unnecessary,” I said, avoiding her eyes.“And if you will excuse me, Aunt Dahlia, I think I’ll take another turn about your garden.”

“But, Bertie-”

And off I went, leaving her staring after me.

Now, despite our generally sunny disposition, we Woosters know how to wallow when the time calls for it.And wallow hither and thither I did.The good-natured residents of Brinkley Court all tried to support their ailing relative in their own way.Aunt Dahlia tried to lure me into various gambling schemes with a vigour I imagine she normally reserved for the hunt; Angela bought me a hideous new hat that she assured me was much in vogue; and even Uncle Tom tried to perk me up by showing me some of the recent additions to his sprawling collection of antique silver.Admittedly, Tuppy’s near incessant practical jokes were perhaps slightly less kindly-hearted, but I’m sure he left itching powder in my bedclothes and rested bags of flour above doors with the best of intentions.All was in vain, however.I was so deeply entrenched in a pit of misery that it would take a dedicated team of deep sea divers (with optional submarine) to pull me out of it.

During my stay, I had rather formed a habit of taking an evening walk in the house’s substantial gardens.I haunted the various flowerbeds, ornamental ponds and orchards like a spectre in tweed; I’m sure that the very sight of me was enough to wilt the roses on their stems.

Now, things came to ahead during one such walk.I was taking making my usual mournful turn around the gardens and, despite my cloud of ennui, even I could appreciate that it really was a beautiful evening. From the look of things, one could readily assume that God was in his heaven and all was right with the world.This irked me deeply.How could the world continue to be so jolly and pretty whilst I watched my life fall in tatters around me?Melodramatic I know, but I did say a Wooster knows how to wallow with the best of them.

Well, on this particular evening I found it necessary to make a slight detour.As I was walking, I had the misfortune to come across Tuppy and Angela.I won’t be as uncouth as to describe exactly what they were doing, but they were sufficiently occupied that I could sneak away unobserved. 

I plodded deeper into the gardens, going further than I normally had call for.After a while, I found myself in a rather overgrown section that had as of yet escaped my notice.If I was in the right frame of mind for such things, I would have thought it a rather agreeable setting.What, with the moonlight, the gentle scent of the flowers hanging in the air, the gentle summer breeze, it was positively idyllic.However, I was in no position to ‘take in the atmosphere’, as it were.

As soon as I entered the clearing, I flopped down onto the conveniently places rustic bench and put my head in my hands.I’m embarrassed to admit that this was rather becoming a habit. 

For how long I sat there, I can’t precisely say.I was too busy with the burying of the Wooster face in the Wooster hands to glance at my watch, and time rather got away from me.Anyway, I was finally distracted from my misery by a sound completely out of place in my present surroundings. 

It was a cough — and a bally familiar one at that!

I started, sitting bolt upright in my surprise.The source of the cough was stood politely to one side, wearing a crisp suit, and looking as out of place as a rose in a patch of weeds.

“ _Jeeves?!_ ”I gasped, gawking at the man like a surprised haddock.

“Sir?”

“But- _Jeeves?!_ ”

“Yes, sir?”

I pulled myself together.There was only so long a conversation could sustain itself solely on alternating “Jeeveses’ and ‘sirs’. 

“What on earth are you doing here?”I said.“Aren’t you meant to be in London?”

“Indeed, sir.I apologise for the lack of notice, but I received a telegram from Lady Travers this morning, sir.She was most emphatic that my services were more urgently required here than at your London residence.”

The sly old fox!Gone behind my back, had she?But I could understand Jeeves’ acquiescence to her instructions: Aunt Dahlia could be a singularly persuasive woman when she wanted to be.

“Ah — gave you your marching orders did she, eh Jeeves?”I said, managing a wan smile.

“I would not go quite that far myself, sir, but the telegram was markedly assertive in its tone.”

“Ah, right then.”

At this juncture, there was a rather rummy break in the conversation.A loaded silence, if you get my meaning. I was thinking about the last time we had spoken, and Jeeves was thinking- well, I can never venture to guess what a man as brainy as Jeeves is thinking, but I’m sure deep thoughts were biffing around in the old lemon.

Eventually, to escape the silence more than anything else, I decided to take the reigns of the conversation. 

“Well then,” I said, “now you’re here, you can see that everything’s hunky-dory and that there’s no real need for you to confine deepest darkest Worcestershire.I apologise on behalf of the Aunt — must be going a bit batty with the advancing years, what?”Inspiration struck.“Tell you what, that annual vacation of yours, why don’t you take it a bit early this year?I’m sure you’re dying for a bit of fishing after being cooped up in London, eh?”

There was a slight pause before the other man replied.

“I do not think that will be necessary, sir.”

“Oh,” I said, “won’t it?”

“No, sir.”

Another pause, one that neither Jeeves or I seemed eager to fill.I noticed that Jeeves was observing me closely and I my cheeks getting rather hot.

After a minute or so, Jeeves finally broke the silence.

“I apologise for my forwardness, sir,” he said, “but may I speak frankly?‘Man to man’, as it were, rather than servant to employer?”

I gulped, my stomach lurching rather displeasingly. “Why, of course Jeeves!” I managed, speaking with forced joviality. “Erm — fire at will!Go ahead, I mean.”

He nodded in response.“Very good, sir.”

The first thing Jeeves did was shrug out of his suit jacket, removing a slender cigarette case from the pocket, before carefully folding it and then laying it down on the edge of the bench furthest from me.  Then, with graceful, deliberate movements, he sat down beside me.  We were not touching, but I could have sworn that I felt his warmth along with the balmy evening breeze.  After offering me a gasper, which I accepted, he took one for himself.  The light from his lit match danced in the evening gloom; he cupped it in his hand, lighting my cigarette and then his own.  Our smoke entwined and trailed upwards in the evening air.

Rather than the awkward silences so far, this felt rather companionable.Perhaps it had something to do with the nicotine.This was the first time I had seen him intentionally smoking in front of me — so far I had only witnessed it when I’d ambushed the man — and I found that I rather liked it.It reminded me of the time, just before my heat toddled along and mucked everything up, when I had walked in on him smoking in the kitchen.This had the same feeling of intimacy: a side of the man was being revealed to me that I hadn’t seen before. If someone was to observe the scene, there would be no way to distinguish us as master and servant.Just two young chappies enjoying a pleasant evening together.

I risked a sidelong glance at him and, once again, was reminded of how young Jeeves actually was.  As he leaned back, smoking languidly, I could appreciate the strong line of his jaw, the rich lustre of his dark hair and the removal of his jacket meant that I could see his lithe form clearly.  My stomach gave a funny little twist at the sight. 

“Jeeves?” I said after a long period of comfortable silence. 

“Sir?”

“You can’t go on about frankness and us having a manly tête-à-tête and then clam up on me.It’s bad for the nerves.”

He exhaled a thin line of smoke. “I apologise, sir.I was taking a moment to enjoy my surroundings.It is certainly a most pleasant evening,” he said, before turning to look at me directly.I flushed under his scrutiny.“I don’t wish to unduly concern you, sir, but I really think that we had better discuss the events before you departed.”

My spirits sank.

“Oh.Perhaps we couldn’t?”I inquired hopefully.

“No, sir.At this stage, I believe it to be necessary.”

“Well, I think we both have a fairly clear grasp of what happened,” I couldn’t help but let a trace of waspishness enter my voice.“I went into heat, made an utter fool of myself, and you did the only thing you could to avoid being entangled in the mess.”

Jeeves continued to smoke silently for a little while.When he did speak, his voice was quiet but firm.“I apologise, but I believe you have misinterpreted my actions, sir.”

“There is nothing to misinterpret!It’s alright, Jeeves.It’s _alright_.You don’t need to justify yourself to me.”

“Sir?”

I suddenly found I couldn’t look at him.I took one last drag of my cigarette, dropped it and stubbed it out.“Rejecting me.You were totally entitled to do what you did and you don’t need to justify yourself — it’s quite alright.”

“I did not wish to reject you, sir.”

I froze. _He didn’t want to..?_

Jeeves was looking up at the stars, a slight frown between his brows.He took a long, slow drag of his cigarette before exhaling deeply.When he spoke, he kept his gaze directed heavenwards.

“Sir, you are an omega and I myself am an alpha.Due to what we are, we both experience impulses that we cannot fully control.” 

I flushed before stuttering, “It’s quite alright, Jeeves — you don’t need to bring yourself to explain the birds and the bees to me!”

“That was not my intention, sir,” he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips.“What I am trying to emphasise is this: when you were in heat, you were not in your right mind.And, to be perfectly candid, neither was I.If I had — and I apologise for being indelicate, sir — done what I wanted to you, there would have been no way for me to ascertain if it was what you really wanted.An omega’s heat is known to cloud the mind, and I was unwilling to take such a risk, sir.”

My head swam at the implication of his words, but I managed to voice an objection: “But, Jeeves, that’s just how things are between alphas and omegas!Just look at Honoria and Sir Roderick! 

He took one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out.“I do not model my actions on those of other alphas, sir.If I had not left, there is a high probability that I would have hurt you — physically or emotionally.As an even worse scenario, I could have formed a bond with you.If I had bitten your nape, you would have found yourself paired to me for the rest of your life without fully considering or consenting to the union.I did not do what I wanted to, but only what I thought was right.And I apologise for the hurt it has caused you.”

 _But I wanted you to..._ The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to say them. 

“Oh.But...”

“Sir?”

“But... you left me, Jeeves...”. I said, voice sounding very small.

Gently, very gently, he reached out to cup my face in his hand.He ran a thumb across my lips before leaning forward to capture them in a soft kiss.I couldn’t quite bring myself to breathe.

He pulled back.“Believe me when I say that I did not want to, sir.”

Processing the implications of his words, I found myself flushing pink to the tips of my ears. 

He continued.“If such circumstances were to arise again, sir, I believe I would respond differently.”

“Oh?”I found myself feeling rather giddy and my stomach gave a funny little twist.

“If what I have inferred from your actions is correct, it may not be necessary for me to restrain myself in such a manner again.”

“Oh,” I finally managed.“Oh.Well, well - right then!Err, that’s good, Jeeves!Very good!I mean, we can’t have you locking me in bedrooms and running off every time I go into heat, what?”

“No sir.”

“That kind of thing just isn’t done.”

“Indeed, sir.”

As I spoke, Jeeves had reached out to take my hand in his.He raised it to his lips for a gentle kiss and —I’m embarrassed to admit — I nearly swooned at the action. As we sat there, hand in hand, I could have sworn I detected a faint but deliciously familiar aroma...

A thought popped into my head.

“Pheromones,” I announced.

“Pheromones, sir?”

“What I mean to say — is this all just down to pheromones? I mean — do we actually really like each other that much, or is it just our hormones floating around and telling us to continue the species and whatnot?”Although I kept the tone light and cheery, I felt a rummy glum sensation creep upon me.

“Perhaps it would be better if you were to consider things in a different way, sir.”

I nodded, words momentarily evading me.

“At this present moment, are you attracted to me, sir?”

I flushed looked away on instinct.“ _Errr_ , gosh, Jeeves — that’s a very direct question!”

“I apologise, sir, but I believe it is necessary.”As he spoke, he raised my hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it. 

“One shouldn’t go fishing for compliments and whatnot!”

“I apologise for the breach of etiquette, sir.”

“Well...err... it’s a ‘yes’, then.I mean, I suppose I am rather attracted to you.I mean, I do find you quite appealing aesthetically, what?”

“Very good, sir.”Jeeves nodded and the faintest of smiles ghosted over his face.“And — I apologise to push the issue — do you believe that you felt the same way before the incident?”

My stomach gave a little twist and I felt myself become rather hot.This is the problem with the English — brave as you like when saving damsels in distress and whatnot, but try and sit a chappie down and talk about feelings, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

“Errr,” I said, feeling like a first class dumb brick.“Yes?”I thought about leaving things there, but decided a little more clarification was necessary — I steadied the Wooster nerves and proceeded. “To be perfectly honest, Jeeves, I think I may have been darned well potty about you since the day we met. I’ve just been too much of a fathead to realise it.”

At this point, Jeeves gave my hand a reassuring squeeze and then pulled me into a loose embrace.I was rather to tall to sit in his lap, but I leaned against him affectionately enough and hoped that he couldn’t hear how loud my heart was beating from where he was.

“It is the same for me, sir.”He pressed a kiss into my hairline.I shivered, and my stomach gave another funny little twist.Was it my imagination, or did Jeeves smell rather good right now?

There was a slight delay before the information presented to me sunk in.

“Oh,” I said finally, “well, you should have spoken up sooner!Saved us a whole lot of bother, what?”

At this the man gave a gentle smile and nodded.“Indeed, sir.”

“So, sometimes the body speaks for the heart, what?While we’ve been blundering about, completely failing to put two and two together, good old hormones came along and did the business?The truth will out and all that?” 

“So it would seem, sir.

“And, Jeeves?”

“Sir?”

“I’m not really well rehearsed in this kind of thing but, considering the circumstances, is this when we do the swapping of the old ‘I love you too’ and all that?”

Once again, the man smiled gently.

“I think so, sir,” he said, and leaned over for a kiss. 

* * *

Several weeks passed.  To the relief of all involved, I ceased my haunting of Brinkley Court and returned to London.  Since re-establishing myself at the old metrop, there had been changes.

Aunt Agatha was giving me the silent treatment, leading to much rejoicing; we were redecorating (a new purpose was needed for Jeeves’ old room); and I had a rather wonderful scar at the nape of my neck.Jeeves was somewhat shamefaced about the whole thing — I’d worn a bandage for around a week — but it had enabled me to wear a number of rather fetching collarless shirtlings that had as of yet been outlawed.

“I say, Jeeves, there are a couple of things that are still bothering me.”

“Sir?”  I’d been trying to get him to call me ‘Bertie’, but all attempts had, as of yet, been rebuffed.  

“The first one’s about my going into heat, and the second one’s about that business with my Aunt’s collapsing ceiling.”

“I will endeavour to answer your questions, sir.” 

“I just thought of it, but the scent of you during my heat nearly drove me to distraction, Jeeves!I put it down to you being an alpha and whatnot.”

“Why yes, sir, an alpha’s pheromones can have a rather potent effect on an omega during that particular phase of their oestrus cycle.”

“But that’s not the point!Despite the old heat and that, I wasn’t remotely attracted to either Glossop — both of them alphas!How do you explain that, eh?”

“My Uncle Charlie had a somewhat similar experience, sir.According to him, in his third year in the service of Lord and Lady-”

“Save it for the long, dark nights, eh Jeeves?I don’t think I have the constitution to manage hearing about your Uncle Charlie’s love life.Bung us the abridged version, what?”

I received a slightly sour look at this — I would have to make it up to him later.“Well, sir, there is one theory that is currently gaining traction with the scientific community.”

“Oh, and what’s that then?”

“There is the idea that each omega and alpha has an ideal partner, sir — I find the term distasteful myself, but I believe the term is ‘fated pair’.Apparently they will be instinctively drawn to and more strongly affected by this person than any other.”

At this, I felt a slight flush and found myself inspecting the carpet rather closely.

“Oh, you don’t say.Jolly interesting that.”

“Indeed, sir.  And your second question?”

“Oh, that.”  With all the talk of pheromones and ideal partners, I had nearly forgotten.  “Did you do it?”

An eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch.“To what are you referring to, sir?”

“The collapse of the fire breathing Aunt’s ceiling?Chaos and destruction at the dining table?Mayhem and havoc — that sort of thing.”

“Oh.I see that you are referring to the events at Lady Gregson’s dinner party,” he said.“No, sir.” 

There was a moment’s pause.

“Oh, righto then, Jeeves,” I said, although I couldn’t stop a slither of disappointment from slipping into my voice.I had rather _liked_ the idea it had been Jeeves.“You know, for some reason I thought...A silly idea, really.”

“It was young master Gregson, sir.”

Now this was something.“ _Thos?_ ”

“Yes, sir.”

“You mean that Thos took it on himself to destroy his own bathroom?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“He collapsed the dining room ceiling and nearly squashed Sir Roderick with a bathtub?”

“Such is the case, sir.”

“But- _why would the little blighter do that?_ He lives there!Why flood your own bathroom?”

“I agree that it was a most unusual course of action, sir.”

An idea came to me.

‘But, Jeeves,” I said, “it couldn’t have been Thos.If I remember correctly, the door was locked from the inside — I saw him on the stairwell before we left!He couldn’t have done it!”

“I assure you that he did.If I may elucidate, sir-”

“Elucidate away, Jeeves!”

“As you were sitting down to dine, sir, the young master confided in me with his plan.  You see, Master Gregson was most displeased with both yourself and his mother.  Apparently, Lady Gregson had refused for him to go and see Cara Bow’s latest film on account of a poor school report.  He also mentioned that you had been most disparaging of the actress in question on a previous occasion.

“All becomes clear, Jeeves.The unbalanced young weevil thought he could enact vengeance on us at the same time — two birds with one stone.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“But that doesn’t explain the door — how was it locked from the inside?”

“Well, sir, the element of the ‘locked-room mystery’ was not included in Master Gregson’s original scheme.As it so happens, his plan reminded me of a similar piece of mischief carried out when I was in the employ of Lord Fishington, sir.As an April Fool’s jape, the young master of the house left all the taps running in the master bathroom.He then locked the door and escaped down the drain pipe beside the bathroom window.After repairing the structural damage, everyone agreed it was most droll.  At the time, I thought it fitting to share the story with Master Gregson, sir.”

I was flabbergasted.I found myself hoping, and not for the first time, that Jeeves’ brain was never turned against me!

“Jeeves, you are a genius,” I said reverently.“A Jeevesius, even!”

“Thank you, sir.

“You stand alone among valets!”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

“Still - not sure about this business about flooding people’s ceilings.There must have been another way to extract me from the dinner party with rather less carnage, what?”

“Considering the circumstances, I felt it necessary, sir.And Lady Gregson’s parlour maid informs me she has excellent insurance.”

“Ah, well then — all’s well that ends well, eh Jeeves?”

He smiled gently, gathering me in his arms and pressing a soft kiss against my forehead.“So it would appear, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading and all comments and kudos are appreciated.  This was a joy to write (Wodehouse’s style is so silly and fun!) and I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> I apologise if you commented on the last chapter and I didn’t get back to you — I was in the absolute middle of nowhere for a couple of weeks with no internet access.  I am sending you belated thanks!


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